eturned in the following week. Italy is all
very well for nine months in the year, but Leghorn is no place for the
Englishman in mid-July. My thoughts were wandering toward the English
lakes, and a bit of grouse-shooting with my uncle up in Scotland, when
the faithful Francesco re-entered, saying--

"I've sent the captain and his madman away till this afternoon, signore.
But there is an English signore waiting to see you."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know him. He will give no name, but wants to see the Signor
Console."

"All right, show him in," I said lazily, and a few moments later a tall,
smartly-dressed, middle-aged Englishman, in a navy serge yachting suit,
entered, and bowing, enquired whether I was the British Consul.

When he had seated himself I explained my position, whereupon he said--

"I couldn't make much out of your clerk. He speaks so brokenly, and I
don't know a word of Italian. But perhaps I ought to first introduce
myself. My name is Philip Hornby," and he handed me a card bearing the
name with the addresses "Woodcroft Park, Somerset ------ Brook's." Then
he added: "I am cruising on board my yacht, the _Lola_, and last night
we unfortunately went aground on the Meloria. I have a new captain whom
I engaged a few months ago, and he seems an arrant fool. Very
fortunately for us a fishing-boat saw our plight and gave the alarm at
port. The Admiral sent out two torpedo-boats and a tug, and after about
three hours they managed to get us off."

"And you are now in harbor?"

"Yes. But the reason I've called is to ask you to do me a favor and
write me a letter of thanks in Italian to the Admiral, and one to the
Captain of the Port--polite letters that I can copy and send to them.
You know the kind of thing."

"Certainly," I replied, the more interested in him on account of the
curious suspicion that the port authorities seemed to entertain. He was
evidently a gentleman, and after I had been with him ten minutes I
scouted the idea that he had endeavored to cast away the _Lola_.

I took down a couple of sheets of paper and scribbled the drafts of two
letters couched in the most elegant phraseology, as is customary when
addressing Italian officialdom.

"Fortunately, I left my wife in England, or she would have been terribly
frightened," he remarked presently. "There was a nasty wind blowing all
night, and the fool of a captain seemed to add to our peril by every
order he gave."

"You are alone, then?"